“First Kiss” excerpt from “TW:Flatline”
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My first novel, “TW: Flatline,” is officially out! You can pick up your copy HERE! But, if you want to read a little sample first, or just want to get a taste while you wait for your copy to arrive, here is an excerpt from the novel about Ricky’s (the main character) first kiss! Enjoy 🙂
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When I had my first kiss, I was numb.
Well, technically my first-first kiss was in second grade, but that one didn’t count. My first real kiss was in seventh grade. Her name was Aurora and her hair was the color of a pastel galaxy and felt like California dry brush.
We had PE together and it was the only time I saw her the entire school day. Forty-five short minutes. She was quiet. When the coach called her name in attendance, she wouldn’t respond, staring forward with blank eyes. When we had to run the mile, she would slip through a hole in the fence and make flower crowns in the grass behind the trees. She was always absent on swim days, but only for PE.
Her home address in the directory led to a bent stop sign in the middle of a hiking trail. Aurora was dropped off in front of the school twenty-three minutes before the first bell rang. She always got out from the back of the car, though there was never anyone in the passenger seat. For twenty-two minutes, she would sit in the far corner of the cafeteria and draw in her sketchbook. She showed me a couple times. Aurora designed a lot of plaid patterns, varying soft and hard scratches across the pages.
I had asked her to hang out after school one day, no pressure if she had other arrangements. She silently followed as we walked down the street from the school, an easy two mile stroll in our small suburban bubble. She was a little taller than me back then, but she took toddler steps, trailing a few feet behind. I debated whether to try striking up a conversation, but ultimately couldn’t decide on a topic so I let it go.
It was chilly that night, with the sun setting earlier in the fall. We ended up at a playground. I climbed on top of the monkey bars, motioning for her to join me, but she leaned against one of the poles instead. “Why don’t you talk?” I finally asked.
“I don’t like talking.” The whisper barely escaped her lips before they closed again. Her voice was the slight sizzle of a snail being salted.
“Why?”
“I don’t see the point.”
I waited, but she didn’t continue. Okay…I tried again. “It’s a lot easier and faster than staring at people until they decipher what you mean.”
“People usually hear what they want to anyway.”
I must have made a face, because she quickly looked away into the darkening trees. But again, she didn’t continue. “What do you mean?” I continued for her.
“What do you hear?”
Her lips weren’t rosy or pink. They were fleshy and chapped, and they said nothing. “I have no idea.” I followed her gaze to the trees. “You don’t make any sense.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to listen.”
“Okay, jokester, why don’t you teach me how to listen then.”
“I wish I knew how.” Her face was emotionless, completely neutral. From her bleached eyebrows to her cleft chin. An infinite vacuousness.
It was perfect.
I reached out, tapping on the bar closest to her. “What are you thinking about?”
“Huh?” She finally looked back to me with her eyebrows raised, the ghost of a smile behind her lips. “I’m not thinking at all. I’m observing. Like, those trees over there, the bark dust,” she paused. “You.” She put her hands in her pockets. “I’m just observing. Much easier than thinking.”
“Sounds,” I hesitantly settled on the word, “Repetitive.” She shrugged. I tried to read if she was insulted, but I couldn’t tell. If I didn’t keep asking questions, she would stop talking. “Why don’t you like thinking?”
Her thin lips opened, but nothing came out. A dim flash of something lit her eyes for a brief millisecond, but it could have just been a car passing on the street. “It’s tiring.” She finally said, then melted back into the emptiness of the park surroundings.
“Are you tired of thinking?”
She nodded to the trees, lost in a void of dark silence. Her cheekbones contoured into knives under the streetlamps.
“Neil Gaiman would probably write a book about you,” I joked, but she didn’t laugh. I swung my legs from the edge of the bars. “If you sit up here, you can observe a lot more things.” My hands ached from cold, but if I put them in my pockets I could lose balance and face-plant in front of her. I’d rather have my hands amputated.
She slowly pulled herself up next to me. Another car passed by. Aurora’s nose was red and bordering on runny. I wiped my own nose, just in case.
“Are you a good listener?” I finally said. Her shoulders barely lifted in response. I looked to the sky. “If you stay completely still, you can hear the stars.” The brightest of them twinkled in the clear sky, chimes in the wind. As I took a half-scoot closer to her, I couldn’t feel anything else but my heart in my throat and my thigh next to hers. Heat radiated from her jeans, her hands, her face. “What am I saying right now?”
She stared back at me, observing. “Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I’m pretty good at listening then.”
“So, is it okay if I kiss you?”
“Are you a good listener?”
I squinted at her, but she revealed nothing. A foolproof lockbox. I squinted harder. Not even the sizzling snail made a sound. Comprehension was never my best subject. I sighed, “I don’t know. Could you please tell me?”
“It’s okay if you kiss me.”
Our lips touched, soft, then I pulled back. I wiped my nose, just in case. Another car passed. I watched her face, holding my breath. I was leaned into her, our faces just centimeters apart. I shifted between her two unmoving eyes, not even the stars above reflected in them.
Her eyes ticked back to the trees. Empty.
My heart moved from my throat to the soles of my feet. “Did you want to kiss me?” I took a half scoot away.
She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and let her breath trickle out in a cloud.
I listened and I heard the answer. “I’ll walk you home, it’s getting really cold.” I wiped my nose again.
“That’s okay.” She untangled herself from her secure sitting position, carefully lowering herself down into the darkness. “I know the way from here.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
I tried to listen to her unspoken words, but she had already disappeared. I laid back on the bars, heaviness fusing my body into the metal. Hypothermia was a suitable medicine for rejection.
What did you think?? Leave your thoughts in the comments below! If you want to read more excerpts, then here is an excerpt about Ricky’s mom!
